Parallel Dilemma
by nagandsev
Summary: Hermione is thrown into a parallel universe where everything is the same but different. While there, she finds another who has suffered the same fate as her, and together they try to find their way back to their home universe. Originally conceived as a gift, written for nottonyharrison for the GE Fic Exchange 2013, based on her wonderful prompt.
1. Chapter 1

Parallel Dilemma by nagandsev Chapter One: Perturbations

Genre: Angst, Romance, Smut, Drama, Alternate Universe, EWE

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hermione Granger, Marcus Flint, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sirius Black, Pansy Parkinson

Warnings: Lemons (Explicit Sexual Content), Language

Pairings: Hermione Granger/Sirius Black

Author's Notes: First, my greatest thanks to nottonyharrison for her wonderful prompts, and the mods over at GE for advising me to give this story more love and care! As so wisely and kindly pointed out, this story needed more proper development and connective narrative, so it is with the deepest appreciation to all my lovely betas, helping me revise and fine tune the original version, which was meant for the GE 2013 exchange: lyn_f as the initial SOS beta, then stgulik and proulxes—as alpha betas extraordinaire, broadening my universe further—you ladies are the best!

Disclaimer: _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

Summary: Hermione is thrown into a parallel universe where everything is the same but different. While there, she finds another who has suffered the same fate as her, and together they try to find their way back to their home universe. Originally conceived as a gift, written for nottonyharrison for the Granger Enchanted Fic Exchange 2013, based on her wonderful prompt.

* * *

Chapter One: Perturbations

Chapter Notes: Investigative Auror, Hermione Granger, and Hit Wizard Marcus Flint are making their rounds in the Department of Mysteries, working on an assignment, when something unexpected and unimaginable happens. Hermione awakens, unable to believe her senses and the little sanity she has left.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Hermione gave a pensive look around the Time Room and tucked a loose lock of frizzy hair behind her ear. She looked back at her assigned partner, Marcus Flint, trying to hide her irritation with her colleague.

It'd been six years since the destruction of Voldemort. Six years since Kingsley Shacklebolt had become Minister of Magic, leading a massive reform of the Ministry. She had been proud to support Kingsley when he asked her to take a leading role in the newly established office for eradicating pro-pureblood laws in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had flourished under the pressure, impressing colleagues who were years older and more experienced than her—so much so that, once the new legislation was in place, Hermione had been offered a transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and placed into the elite Intelligentsia Unit of the Auror Office.

True, Kingsley had chosen her for the Investigation Department, a subdivision of the Auror Office, rather than placing her as a regular Hit Wizard Auror, such as her current partner Flint was. But the Minister had again emphasized that he prized and needed her intelligence over her brawn for selective, clandestine assignments, such as this current one was. Hermione knew that Investigative Aurors duties centred on the investigation and tracking down dark wizards; whereas Hit Wizards were more of the muscle power when it came to the actual, physical arrest of dangerous criminals.

Muscle power was something that Flint had in abundance, she thought. The man radiated a kind of brutality that was deeply unsettling. He slouched against the wall of the corridor, chewing a nail, the muscles of his arms shifting and moving under the sleeve of his too-tight jacket.

Catching Flint giving her an odd look, she suddenly shuddered, and the memory of reading about how it took a team of Hit Wizards to arrest Sirius Black when he was thought to have murdered Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles came to mind. _Yes, it would take the likes of Marcus Flint to go after murderous criminals_, she thought, giving her partner another wary glance. That was why she was determined to be thorough in any calculations and investigations which she was in charge of—one could always be deceived by seemingly obvious facts right in front of your nose and be completely wrong about someone!

Focusing back on the here and now, she sighed again, frustrated by her lack of progress in this current assignment. Someone had forcefully entered the Time Room and the Space Room in the Department of Mysteries a week ago. But the manner of the break in was disturbing to say the least. So Kingsley had chosen her to investigate and Flint more for the physical arrest, defense and back-up protection in case she needed it—or so Minister Shacklebolt had said.

At the initial briefing, Hermione had been ecstatic at the prospect of solving an impossible crime, one that had never been committed before. She had immediately consulted the criminal record archives and was intrigued by all of the different cases; some had come close in attempts of breaking into and entering the Department of Mysteries, but most of those were illegal attempts into the Prophecy or the Love chamber. So far in her research, she hadn't come across one that had involved the Space and the Time rooms.

That was why her botheration with Flint was increasingly difficult to keep at bay. From day one, he had struck her as disinterested and ambivalent about each and every step of the investigative process. He had been utterly bored at researching and cross-referencing any former cases even remotely related, and Hermione had ended up doing all the parchment reports herself. It was only when they actually moved on to physically check the Department of Mysteries itself that he had somewhat perked up. But that had only lasted until they arrived there. Then, Flint's disinclination seemed to consume him full force, and Hermione had to prod him along, searching the main rooms that were targeted.

Nothing appeared to be missing in the Time Room except one old astrolabe, but in the Space Room, the constellations and planets had been disturbed—she had cast detection spells throughout the week revealing that their longitudes and latitudes had been misaligned. Although just today, when she and Flint had made the first round of checking the Space Room, the heavens seemed to be back in line and in harmony. Hermione was stumped, but didn't want to admit it. _There was a deviation there and now it's normal… Or does it just seem to be normal? Maybe that's what the phantom intruder wants me to see—wants me to believe! Maybe there's some Charm cloaking the true situation… I detected the briefest abnormality just this morning even though visually everything seemed in place… I must check the room once more before we leave today!_

It was a conundrum Hermione wanted to find out the answer to. Along with all the many others: Who and what had caused the disturbances? When and how had they accessed the rooms? Was it an inside job? Outside? _This is a terrible situation to have some phantom intruder gain access and who has the skill to produce unknown havoc,_ thought Hermione fretfully. _The Minister chose me to head this mission, so let's get to it!_

She raised her wand to cast again a detection spell in the Time Room before moving on. She felt a surge of pressure because of Kingsley's faith in her—pressure to solve the mystery in the face of 'proper police work', such as Flint offered. She tried not to let it make her more nervous and unsure.

She gave her partner another look and said, "Let me check one more time before we leave here."

Casually, Flint pushed himself away from the wall and spat the fingernail he had been chewing onto the floor.

"Yes, why don't you do that, Auror Granger? That's an absolutely brilliant idea," commented Flint, smiling pleasantly.

She blinked, unsure of his ingratiating manner. His expression indicated that he wasn't being disrespectful, although his words bordered on the sycophantic with her.

Hermione didn't care; well, she tried not to care. Ever since her first encounter with Flint at Hogwarts, she'd felt a mutual dislike to him. She knew it was a lingering childhood peeve. Although the strong memory of Draco Malfoy calling her a Mudblood, and Marcus and the other Slytherin cronies laughing, encouraging his cruel racist behavior, had happened so long ago, some days the painful memory still flared up now and then.

She'd been surprised someone like Flint had made it into the Auror squad, but Harry had let her know that the former Slytherin classmate was exceptionally clever and skilled. Additionally, after the Second Wizarding War, Marcus was a willing and enthusiastic informer for the Ministry, very cooperative in helping root out and lead raids on former Voldemort followers who were still very active in causing harm.

So Hermione had bitten her lip, held her head high, and tried to ignore any dirty looks she thought Flint gave her. _The past is the past, Hermione. Let it go_, she told herself.

"The intruder isn't here," stated Hermione as she finished casting her Homenum Revelio spells around the Time Room.

"Surprise, surprise," muttered Marcus sarcastically.

"What's that supposed to mean exactly, Flint?" demanded Hermione, trying to remain calm and professional in the face of his obvious derision.

She was trying hard not to let him unnerve her, reminding herself yet again that many Hit Wizards shared his attitude and behaviour.

Marcus smirked and shrugged his shoulders in response.

Hermione's eyes narrowed in pensive thought. "You agreed to this assignment, Flint. You needn't have if you weren't planning to cooperate."

"I'm cooperating…" He cocked his head and gave her an odd look again. "I'm here for you, Granger."

She gave the tall, muscular Slytherin a cool stare. There was something about his barely concealed smirk that she couldn't quite put her finger on that bothered her. After several seconds of staring him down, she said, "Very well, Flint, follow me."

The two Aurors left the long, rectangular room of the Time Chamber and made their way back into the Department of Mysteries' highly polished dark corridor. Hermione checked her watch, her heels clicking sharply on the polished marble of the flooring as she set a quick pace along the passageway. Flint was walking more languidly, deliberately falling behind her as she walked.

"Keep up, Flint," she snapped, irritated. "Our allotted time is running out for today—we need to push on."

"We've been given specialized, authorized clearance. What's the rush, Granger? Our clearance here is for as long as is needed. Besides, we haven't checked out what's behind those two doors." He nodded towards two doorways at the farthest side.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you even _listening_ when Doctor Bridenbough was showing us around, Flint? What part of "The Love Chamber's door cannot be unlocked by _Alohomora_, or other straightforward magical means" did you not understand?" She saw his face flush with the insult, but pressed on regardless. "It is not _possible_ for anyone to enter or leave that chamber without half the Ministry knowing that the door has been breached. The thief was detected for the first time along this corridor - but he or she could not have come out of the room because _the door cannot be opened_."

Flint's upper lip began to curl back in a sneer, but Hermione continued on. "However they got into the Department of Mysteries in the first place, they were undetectable until he or she entered the Time Chamber, stole an astronomical clock, an ancient clockwork astrolabe, and then came here…" She pointed at the Space Chamber's door which they had arrived at. "This door – _unlike the Love Chamber _– shows signs of a forced entrance."

"And that one?" Marcus pointed to the farthest door.

Hermione's throat tightened as a flash of that horrid day when the battle in the Department of Mysteries had taken place over Harry's prophecy. The screams, the pain, the hexes and spells that were thrown around still caused a sickening feeling in her chest. _And Sirius Black went through the Veil! It was horrible!_

Hermione's thoughts flew to another time and place. She remembered one evening staying at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, right before her fifth year going back to Hogwarts, during the time of the Order of the Phoenix meetings and helping Molly Weasley de-spell the place from Dark magic. One late evening after all had gone to bed, she had crept down to the kitchen for some milk, feeling her stomach upset, only to find that the glasses and cups were on a top shelf, unreachable without magic or a chair.

_Oh, Hermione!_ she thought, berating herself. Having not brought her wand, she pulled a heavy old kitchen chair from the corner to stand on. She carefully climbed up on it, trying not to worry by the cricking and slight wobbling her weight caused. As she reached for a cup, she felt her body waver as the chair shifted sharply to the right.

But she immediately felt a strong hand firmly hold her at the waist. She glanced down to see Sirius steadying her with one hand and his other on the back of the chair.

"I'd be careful if I were you. Kreacher's probably spelled it to break. He's, um, _mischievous_ that way. "

Hermione held the cup in her hand, not knowing what to say. She was embarrassed that Harry's godfather had caught her in such a mundane, yet potentially dangerous act. _That's all I need to do, fall on my arse right in front of him. He'll let Lupin know how so very wrong he was about me being the brightest witch of my age—look at me without a wand… What he must be thinking! Can't even Accio a cup!_

In the second it took for the chair to fully crack and give way, Sirius had caught and swooped Hermione down, standing her carefully on her feet.

"There you go, all safe and sound now." Sirius gave her a broad grin as she stood there dumbstruck, holding the cup in her hands. "Glad to help a young damsel in distress." He let go of her waist and raised an eyebrow. "Did you just need a mug or something else to go in it?"

"M-Milk," she answered, finding her voice. "Thank you for—I'm not always wandless. Didn't think anyone else was up—I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Nah, I barely ever sleep," said Sirius, whipping out his wand and _Accio_ing a bottle of milk from the larder to the table. "Here you go."

He flicked his wand once, repairing the broken chair and waving it back to its corner, and then he flicked again, and a whisky glass along with an accompanying Firewhisky bottle landed on the table's other side.

"I'll join you for a late nightcap, shall I?" He plopped down not waiting for her to answer.

Hermione smiled shyly, but joined him, sitting and pouring herself a cup of milk while he gave himself a generous shot of liqueur.

They sat there in comfortable silence, each sipping their own beverage, until Sirius said, "Glad I was up, prowling around. That could have been a serious accident there, Hermione."

"I'm usually not like that," she said, still abashed at appearing foolish in front of him.

"Not like what? You're human. It's all right, kid. Accidents happen. Merlin knows, they happen to me all the time."

Stubbornly, she insisted, "I'm not like that—I usually have my wand; I'm fairly good in Charms, Transfiguration class—" she began to list, feeling a need to prove herself in front of the distinguished wizard.

"You like books, right?" asked Sirius, interrupting her.

"Yes."

"Take your milk, kid, and follow me. There's a book I want to show you—and it's _not_ cursed," he added with a cheeky grin.

Hermione followed him as he led her to the front parlor in front of the fireplace. She sat as he put his drink down and then watched Sirius' gaze begin to roam over the shelves. "Is it _Magical Constellations_? Or is it _Constellations of the Magical Heavens_?" she heard him mumble.

" Ah, what the hell…" she heard him say as he cast his wand across the rows. Several books flew from the shelves, piling themselves on the coffee table before her.

It had been a wonderful night. Sirius had double-checked each and every book for Dark Magic before handing it over to her. They were lovely ancient tomes from his family's private collection, all going into exquisite detail of the history and related fields of magic which the constellations affected. Sirius had pointed out to her the beautiful moving pictures of the heavens and relayed humorous stories of his times in Divination classes, particularly when he had to cover Astrology.

Hermione had smiled and laughed so much that evening with Sirius. So that now, as she stood staring at the dubious doorway that Flint was pointing out, she could only think, _There was so much more to Sirius than people knew. He could be kind and so funny_. _He died so young… died before his time, before he should have_…

She forced herself to swallow hard to relieve the tension caught in her throat before replying, "The Death Chamber? Nothing there. If the perpetrator went in undetected and hasn't come out by now… they never will."

Flint seemed disgruntled, pursing his lips in deep thought about this. His heavy brows were knitted and his lower lip thrust out. He looked like a child who had had his Gobstones confiscated.

"Fine!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. "If it means so much to you, we'll take a look in the Death Chamber—but only _after_ we search the Space Chamber..."

"The Space Chamber, again?" He rolled his eyes, clearly giving her an it's-a-waste-of-time expression. "We've already checked it once today. Thoroughly."

"I detected an anomaly for the briefest second, but an anomaly nonetheless." _And if I don't double-check now, I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight!_ she added to herself.

"You detected a lag of time in your spell applications," quipped Flint belligerently, "So what? I thought that was normal for this… place."

"Oh, so now you're the expert?"

He shrugged, irritating her. "I wasn't assigned as your partner for this just because of my good looks," he joked caustically. His shifty grey eyes looked her up and down. "Are you telling me that you got your measurements wrong, Granger?" he smirked rudely.

Choosing to ignore any innuendo, she stubbornly reminded him, "There's an anomaly. We need to check. It's our job." Turning back to the Space Chamber's door, she offered, "Look, I know you weren't keen on the floating about in here so you can wait outside while I run a series of spells to distinguish and identify any irregularities in the space between Uranus and Pluto—that's where there was a fluctuation."

"As you wish," he replied darkly. "That fucking place makes me want to throw up."

His surly manner only accentuated her annoyance and increased her determination to get to the bottom of whatever this burglary really _meant._

She had enough to deal with in her personal life—Ron was being unbearable at times; far too self-centered on his career; oblivious to her needs, both professional and personal ones… Everyone said it was a natural phase in their not-even-close-to-officially-announcing, pre-engagement period, as well as it being a necessary time to think things over in regards to their professional ambitions. She gave a heavy sigh.

_Still, I can do without getting noncooperation at work from colleagues… _She gave Marcus a frown. "Why don't you go interview the ninth floor caretaker or something? I'll meet you at the lift."

"Yes, why don't I, Granger?" Flint sneered. "But you see, Shacklebolt told me not to wander too far away from you. So I think I'll wait outside."

Irked, Hermione turned from Flint and made her way into the dark room full of planets floating in mid-air; she let out a deep sigh reflecting on how in this chamber wizards studied the aspect of space, and how it was considered one of the limits of magic along with time. _Mmmn, the Space Chamber_… She felt immediately at peace in this room.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile as she gazed between the last two planets, peering intently up into the darkness. She raised her wand to cast first the same identification incantation she had used several hours earlier, but paused right before incanting it.

She blinked in disbelief as she was struck by the realization that she definitely could see, visible to the naked eye, an abnormality wavering in the dark mass for a split second.

_There's—there's something there—an anomaly, fluctuation—something irregular here!_

As if hypnotized, she stared into the uncanny heavens and began to make out the faintest star formation, some constellation; she couldn't quite put a name to it at that exact moment. Just as the recognition of what it exactly was came to her, a hex hit her full in the back, and she felt herself falling forward into the darkness of the mysterious space, the black void consuming her utterly.

* * *

oOoOoOo

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She felt faint. She was aware of who she was, and she knew she'd been hit by a powerful hex, but couldn't remember who had cast it. Like faraway echoes, the sound of worried voices reverberated around her, but she was unable to make out the words yet… The lights danced as her eyes grew more accustomed to the glare from them, and her heart pounded as it dawned on her that she wasn't in the Space room. Unlike the cool darkness and crisp, clean peaceful atmosphere she was surrounded with there, wherever _here _was had a musty warmth, like a faded liqueur scent, and she detected sweet tobacco lofting in the air somewhere.

Her head was pounding and she tried to speak. But her mouth was too parched and her jaw felt stiff as she tried again to utter a word. She felt the smoothness of leather under her fingertips, confirming that she was lying on a soft sofa of sorts, but was confused as to how she got here. _I'm not supposed to be here! But where…?_

Like a bolt of lightning, a pain struck through her head as she tried to remember where she was supposed to be and, frightened, she cried out, not knowing where she was now. The muddled echoes of male voices started to become clearer, one very distinct, but her head was killing her, and she felt like she would slip into unconsciousness. She whimpered, thinking, _Has my memory been modified?_ Her vision was blurry. But slowly, with muddled awareness, she recognized where she was. _Minister Shacklebolt's office!_

Dully, she could hear Kingsley arguing with someone. "You found her just as we found you—unconscious and on the Space Room's floor. A Healer should be —"

"Wait, Kingsley—it's probably just a case of exhaustion, over-exertion. It even happened to me there, remember? And I snapped out of it immediately. She, especially, shouldn't have been allowed to go directly back on duty, so shortly after—"

"Look! She's coming to!"

The voices ceased and Hermione felt someone near her.

"There, there, Hermione, take it easy," came the rich, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, responding to her struggling attempt to sit up. "Easy does it!"

"Minister, what am I doing here? What happened?" she asked, her voice and energy weak.

Kingsley gave a grave, uncomfortable look to another figure on her other side.

"Well, we were hoping you might be able to help us out there, Granger. What's the last thing you remember?" questioned a haughty, smooth voice.

As the sound of _that_ voice, who exactly was speaking, dully registered, Hermione felt a wave of nausea roll over her. _It—it can't be!_

Willing herself to turn her head to the commenter, her mind incredibly registered the incongruous realization that she saw black, Muggle motorcycle boots joined with black denim trousers. As her eyes caught a heavy-metalled belt buckle and slowly rose and locked on to his upper body, she swallowed hard as she took in a very fit form. She gazed at a very masculine form with a taut tattooed chest barely concealed by a half-opened, deep purple tunic, layered with a form-fitting velvety jacket. She gasped as she made eye contact with the dark poised form of a wizard who, her rational mind screamed out, could not possibly be there: _Sirius Black! _

_Oh my god, but it can't be! Sirius? He went through the Veil! He's—he's dead!_

It wasn't the hex she'd been hit with in the Space Chamber that affected and made her black out momentarily again, but rather the overwhelming emotions of sheer disbelief. Her rational mind folded in on itself, disappeared, and she went weak with shock, and fainted.

* * *

oOoOoOo

_Where am I? This must be a dream—he's not real, not alive… What's happened to me?_

Hermione kept her focus on the snifter of Firewhisky, which had been handed to her by none other than one of her best friend's previously deceased godfather! Sirius looked the same to Hermione, maybe only a little older, which had only added to the masculine, virile energy he exuded. She tried to dampen her awareness of his vigorous physicality by focusing on the more immediate predicament.

His chiseled features, accented by the very trimmed, stylish moustache and tousled, long hair she remembered that he wore, heightened the concerned expression that he was giving her.

She avoided looking further at Black directly, as her mind was racing, irrational and wild. _He's dead, but then, am I? Where am I? This is a dream—no, it's real... Shacklebolt, the Minister—he's the same; he's real! But, Sirius…? Oh my god, oh my god… I've lost my mind! Can't wake up!_

Feeling panic set in, she forced herself to take a sip of the burning liquor.

"Just take it slowly, Hermione," offered Kingsley gently. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Hermione blinked hard in thought. She desperately searched her memory and bit her lip in frustration before finally mustering enough will to vocalise bits and pieces. "The Ministry… The Department of Mysteries… We were in the Time Room…" _God, and then what happened? I—I can't remember details! _Her brow furrowed, deep and pensive, and she tried to piece together step by step what she could. But she could only jump sporadically in her thoughts. "Then we were—I was… I entered the Space Chamber."

Sirius made a sudden movement at this revelation, but Hermione saw Shacklebolt stop him with a sharp glance and hand held up.

"_We_?" asked Shacklebolt, concerned. "Who else was with you? You started to say 'we'. Please, Hermione, take a moment and think hard. Who was with you?"

At this, Hermione's mind went blank. Her mouth dropped open in momentary confusion, searching her memories as hard as she could. There were gaps in her mind—huge, gaping gaps. "It's difficult. I have these holes in my memory. I—I don't know…"

"You said 'we'," pointed out Sirius patiently, although his voice seemed strained and forced. "Think! Who was the last person that you were with?"

Being addressed by Black startled Hermione, and she snapped around to him, but froze momentarily as if Petrified.

"You!" she exclaimed in disbelief. "How are you even here? I don't understand…"

Sirius eyes' flashed with a painful emotion, and he clenched them closed. But when he opened them again, he gave her a deliberate cheeky grin, his undeniable handsome features almost softening the burning intensity he showed as he flippantly remarked, "I'm here because I've been laying off the liquor. Your number one gripe, yes, Auror Granger? The reason you've deemed me _lacking in perfect form_?"

"What?" gasped Hermione, utterly confused.

Taking in her mouth opened in shock, a scowl suddenly crossed his face as he barked, "Needed to catch up on my paperwork, being reinstated and all the fuddy-duddy, bureaucratic—you know, Granger, ministerial obligations and such! But today, be rest assured, your _superior _is completely in top form and ready for duty, ready to serve you, _princess_!"

His gruff change of tone and sudden surly countenance towards her enabled Hermione to clear her head a tad. "W—What?"

If she wasn't mad, if this was a dream, she was ready to wake up.

"You heard me," he said, swaggeringly pouring himself a Firewhisky. "Ironically, I believe this calls for a drink." He lifted the snifter and announced, "Let's celebrate, shall we, Minister? The return of our top girl!"

With his back to the Minister, but facing her, Sirius' expression changed to one of desperation at Hermione, as if there was something she should be seeing clearly, something she was supposed to be responding to. He had a look of expected hope battling with profound disappointment. The more she stared at him confused, the more the pain deepened in his eyes.

_What does he want of me? What is he searching for looking at me like that? _she thought frantically. _What am I supposed to say and do? He's looking at me as if… as if he knows me, but… How could he? He's dead! He's supposed to be dead!_

"That'll do, Sirius. Hermione needs time to recover from," Kingsley gave a long sigh, "whatever this is—whatever has happened to her."

Looking at the recognizably trenchant Sirius Black and then at the austere, earnest Shacklebolt, Hermione's head was in a whirlwind as an inconceivable truth dawned on her. This truly was real. She wasn't going to wake up. _Kingsley—Sirius—everyone, everything is real!_

_Keep it together, Hermione,_ she commanded to herself. _I need time… Time is of the essence!_

Her thoughts raced,_ I must find out exactly who and where I am in this… this—whatever, wherever this is —if Sirius is alive, what else is… different? _The possibilities astounded her._ Keep calm, just keep calm…_

She looked up again and Sirius locked eyes with her.

_Yes, kitten, keep calm… bide your time… just keep calm…_ She gasped softly, hearing Sirius' thoughts in her mind.

Impulsively, Hermione knocked back another gulp of Firewhisky, relishing on some level the burning _realness_ of it. She forced yet one more swig, seeing Sirius' eyes glint with a secret, and slowly the swanky tall wizard tossed her a flashing grin. She finished off the fortifying liquid, giving her the sensation that she was thinking clearer and in control.

Sternly, Kingsley announced, "We'll put you under twenty-four hour observation, Hermione. Sirius will watch over you. If all is well tomorrow, we can slowly start retracing your steps." Shacklebolt turned to the impudent Black. "Summon a Healer at the first signs of anything… further abnormal in her condition. By rights she should be on the Janus Thickey Ward." Then the Minister gave a long, deep sigh and pointed out, "You told me that you wanted a second chance for redemption, Sirius. Don't blow it. I'm trusting you."

This seemed to pacify Black, as he now peered at Hermione with a somber and grave look.

Kingsley turned back to the frizzy-haired witch. "Granger, we need to get to the bottom of what is happening in the Department of Mysteries. Black is Head Auror, and doubly, the best Investigative Auror besides you that I have, despite his… weaknesses… and you clearly need better back-up. Now that he has his drinking under control, are you prepared to work with him again… to make restitution for your loss?"

"My loss?" Hermione's heart began to beat harder, faster. She wasn't sure if she could take much more and so simply nodded in reply. She needed answers, and she needed them _now_.

If anything, she'd get them out of Black, one way or another—especially as it appeared that he owed her something, was in her debt. _Shacklebolt trusts him enough… but he seems to be laying it on thick as if he's covering up… something… There's only one way to start finding out about things!_ She gave the Minister another nod of agreement, hoping that this would placate any suspicions Kingsley was having about her stable mindedness.

_I refuse to accept that I've gone mad. I refuse it! _As she gazed at Sirius, internally confused and bewildered, she pleaded with herself, _Don't let them see you sweat, Hermione! Just nod in agreement and keep your chin up! You've got to work out what's going on and the last thing you need is to be committed to St Mungo's… _Taking a deep breath, she nodded carefully and schooled her face into a suitably calm and determined mask.

"Very well, then. Black?" Kingsley crossed over to the large fireplace in his office and indicated it as he spoke. "You can Floo to Alphard's place; I've had it directly connected. If Granger's well enough in the morning, try to get here around ten, and we can start putting the pieces together as best we can. For now, I think we all can do with a good night's sleep."

Sirius came and stood in front of Hermione, offering his hand to help her up.

She took it lightly and allowed him to tug her to her feet.

There was something about the now softness in his eyes as he gazed at her that made her shy at his touch. It reminded her suddenly of how Ron looked at her whenever he was about to kiss her. And this wasn't Ron. It was Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. He was debonair, a risk taker, and—as she stared into his intense eyes—yes, undeniably handsome.

Even as a young woman, she had admired him from afar on several levels, ever since she and Harry had rescued him from Hogwarts, from being delivered to the Dementors.

She swallowed hard, remembering back before that, how brave he had been holding off the transformed Remus. _He was willing to sacrifice his life for us!_ Her throat tightened even now with the vision of Sirius, transfigured into his Animagus form, throwing himself at the rabid, murderous werewolf.

Abruptly she dropped his hand, embarrassed, and she flinched away.

Obviously miffed, Black bit his cheeks and then said as neutrally as he could, "You'll need to let me hold you… the first time—wouldn't want anything else to happen to you today, Granger."

"It would be advisable, Hermione," assured Shacklebolt. "Just this once, or until you're stable enough on your feet."

She protested, "Stable? Of course I'm stable enough! I don't need—" She broke off, stumbling, the hard liquor and an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion struck her like a sickening wave.

Black steadied her on her feet, ever so gently holding her, pulling her closer to him.

Hermione looked up into his stormy grey eyes, frowning and unsure, a frisson of unexpected excitement mixed with guilt coursed through her. Not having any other choice under the circumstances, she masked her flustered state with a huff and said, "Very well. Let's get this over with."

Tentatively, Sirius held her even closer to him; she could feel the heat radiating off his taut, muscular form. As his distinct masculine scent hit her, she heard him utter the address as they both stepped together into the fire, Flooing themselves to a safe space, and just as important to Hermione, somewhere which she prayed held answers for her.

oOoOoOo


	2. Chapter 2 Agitations

Parallel Dilemma by nagandsev

Chapter summary: Hermione discovers more of where exactly she is, and what has happened to her, as well as getting to know and trust Sirius again.

Chapter Two: Agitations

* * *

oOoOoOo

With a loud roar, they swept out of the fireplace. Hermione promptly shoved Sirius away.

"Ruffled your feathers, Granger?" he mocked gently. He was standing before her, watching her carefully.

"You were supposed to take me home!" she exclaimed.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart." He made a theatrical wave of his arm. "This _is_ home."

Hermione blinked and looked around in confusion. She took a few seconds to catch her breath, taking the room in while Sirius proceeded to motion here and there; lit candles appeared, burning bright, and soon the high ceiling of a spacious living room was made visible.

She frowned. The room _was _familiar to her—startlingly so. There were French doors leading out into a hall, and to her right was an open front salon. She looked over to her left and saw a large archway leading to a dining room.

Hermione fought to contain her rising anxiety as she recognized its layout and design. The room was cleaner and brighter than she remembered and much of the furniture was new, but…

_Am I in Grimmauld Place?_ _But… It looks so different!_ Her head throbbed as she remembered being there very recently—Harry and Ginny had invited her over for dinner with Ron. But the walls were different colours… The furniture was not the same. _How is that possible?_

She slowly focused on the details in the room, illuminated in the flickering light of the candles, and her heart started to beat more quickly. As she did so, she slowly began to recognize personal belongings filling the interior's nooks and crannies here and there: her grandmother's lace doilies, her parents' travelling souvenirs and trinkets; she even spotted some of her favourite Muggle books tucked in the shelves of a bookcase.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Sirius, what are my things doing here?" She had meant her voice to sound strong and accusatory, but all that had emerged was a frightened whisper.

He went very still before her; his brows furrowed, watching her cautiously. He looked as if he was poised on the edge of something, ready to fight—or run.

"Hermione," he said carefully and deliberately, taking a step towards her, "I told you; this _is _home."

She shook her head in denial, holding her hand up before her to stop him coming closer. "I am _not_ home. I don't live here! Harry inherited it after you—you—" She couldn't finish the sentence. Her chest began to rise and fall as her breathing sped up. Her mind twisted, whirled with the memory of the past few minutes. "Back in his office… Shacklebolt said this was Alphard's—your uncle's place—didn't he? W-Why would he say that when Harry lives here?"

Sirius frowned. "Harry doesn't live here. I gave it to _you_ after—" He stopped abruptly.

"After what?" Her outstretched hand was now shaking badly.

"After—" He slowly walked towards her, softly saying, "Granger... Hermione... Please, sit down."

He reached out to touch her fingers, lightly enveloping her hand with his. His sudden kindness threw her into further bewilderment, and she felt frightened. "No! I want some answers, Sirius Black, and Iwant them _now_!"

"You really should sit down, sweetheart—"

"I said no—and don't call me _sweetheart!_" She shook her hand free of his fingers and drew away from him.

Sirius glared at her in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. "Very well. Don't then. Suit yourself." He abruptly turned and headed towards the dining room archway, calling back, "Let's see what kind of alcohol you keep here."

Hearing Sirius opening and slamming cupboards, Hermione stood in the middle of the spacious room, feeling lost and confused. Her disorientation increased in a flash as she zeroed in on a framed photograph on one of the bookshelves.

Sirius had reentered the room and was saying something, but she couldn't understand him. She felt an adrenaline rush and could only stare at the photo. She forced herself towards it, her heart thumping wildly as she saw who was in it.

It was a picture of her and Ron. She wore a bridal gown, and Ron was handsomely dressed in formal groom robes, but Harry and Ginny were laughing behind them, as if teasing them, dressed in T-shirts and jeans.

She started hyperventilating. _What?_ _WHAT?_ The room started spinning.

"Granger? Here let me help you." She felt Sirius put his arms around her and let herself be guided over to a large Chesterfield sofa near the fireplace. Plopping down on it, still clutching the picture in her hand, she heard Sirius call out, "Kreacher!"

There was loud pop, and the ancient house-elf appeared, asking, "Yes, master?"

"Please, bring some food here for Auror Granger and myself." On a second thought, he added, "And a bottle of elf-wine and one Firewhisky decanter while you're at it."

"Yes, master..." Kreacher actually bowed slightly to Sirius before Disapparating away.

Even in her numb state, Hermione couldn't control her amazement at his behavior and whispered, "You—you were polite to him!"

Sirius gave her a puzzled look. "Why shouldn't I be? He serves me well."

_But—but you've always been horrible to Kreacher! What has happened? Who are you?_

Something in Hermione snapped, and she felt tears rolling down her face. She was all too conscious that Sirius still had an arm around her shoulders and was holding her hand with his. She could feel his heat, and for a second, she just wanted to melt back on him, into him, be held by and to hold him. To hold someone. She was drowning. Drowning in her doubts and fears. The fear that she had truly lost her mind.

Her soft brown eyes looked at him, vulnerable, unsure. "Please," she whispered, "Please, _whoever_ you are, _wherever_ we are… tell me what has happened."

A pained look passed over his dark features, but he said kindly, reassuring her, "I _am_Sirius, Hermione…"

A wild look flashed through his dark eyes, and he hesitated, obviously conflicted by something weighing heavily on his mind, before slowly saying, "Perhaps not the Sirius _you_ know, but it's me, Sirius, nonetheless."

Hermione tried to comprehend what he was saying. "Sirius…?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I… I feel dizzy. My lips are tingling," she gasped for air, "And my hands… I can't get enough air…"

"Kreacher!" bellowed Sirius.

A popping sound was heard, and the elf appeared before them. "Yes, master?"

"Bring a Calming Draught, immediately!"

In _crackles_ of Disapparating and Apparating again, Kreacher stood before them again with the potion.

"Here, Hermione, drink some of this. It should help you relax but still be able to concentrate." He looked worried as he held the cup to her lips. She managed to swallow some liquid down and felt immediately the effects. A warmth flowed through her hands and lips, and within seconds, she felt clear-headed and centred.

She saw that Sirius looked relieved as he watched her. He relaxed a bit as well, reminding Kreacher, "Some food _now_." He turned to Hermione. "You still look a little peaky—must be starving. A bit of nourishment might help you from feeling all wobbly. But first, take another sip of the potion."

She forced herself to do as he said, managing a bit more. Looking satisfied, he took her glass and placed it on the coffee table.

Now able to catch a second breath, Hermione forced herself to try to think rationally. He was staring at her with the same guarded intensity that she remembered from the days back at Grimmauld Place during the War, but his face was fuller than she remembered, and slightly tanned. Polyjuice made from hairs taken before he had died would have made him thinner, gaunt even… _This_ Sirius was different. It had been years since Sirius passed through the Veil—and this one was certainly older than the one in her memories. She noted the faint silver streaks at his temples. It could not be Polyjuice. She was too close for a glamour charm to be effective.

That had to mean….

But she had seen him fall, seen him _die,_ the glow of Bellatrix' curse on his chest as he had flown through the archway in the centre of the chamber.

"How did you survive?"

His dark eyes burned with intensity as he whispered fiercely, "I'm the same as you."

She blinked, trying to understand clearly. "What?"

He patiently repeated, "I'm the same as you." He ever so slowly touched and lifted a fallen tress of her hair from her face and gently tucked it behind her ear.

A feeling of strange discord thrummed from deep within her as he touched her—his seemingly natural familiarity with her, his comfort around her.

His voice turned husky. "I'm lost like you. Misplaced."

She fought to understand, wishing that her head was clearer, despite the draught. "What happened to you? How are you _misplaced_?"

"I—I'm not sure. I have some theories, but nothing concrete—" He was interrupted by the pop of house-elf Apparition as Kreacher appeared with a large tray laden with food and bottles, which he placed on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. The house-elf asked, "Does master wish anything else?"

"That'll do, Kreacher."

The house-elf Disapparated, and Hermione gazed again, glued to the photo in her hand.

"Here. Eat," he ordered, passing her a sandwich. "Where do you want me to start?" he asked quietly, pouring wine into two glasses.

She took a small bite from the sandwich and shook her head. Looking around, she uttered weakly, "Everything is so similar and yet… different, and yet… the same."

Sirius followed her gaze and, apparently comprehending, asked, "Don't you recognize your home?"

"It's _not _my home," she informed him vehemently. She placed sandwich and the picture down on the table with a snap. "It's not my home; this isn't my life—I want my life back—I—where's Ronald?" she suddenly demanded.

It was Sirius' turn to be shocked; he paled and didn't answer her.

She pointed at the photo and asked again, "Where is Ron? That's a picture of us." She swallowed, perplexed. "Is that a _wedding_ photo?"

Sirius blinked and then croaked out, "No." An odd look crept over his face, and he softly said, "A rehearsal… Your wedding rehearsal…"

Hermione recoiled, shaking her head. "But I'm _not _married!" she blurted out. "We're _not _engaged and definitely _not _married." _That_ _sounded wrong, somehow… disrespectful to Ron_. She fought to correct herself, babbling, "Well, we're almost engaged. Where is he? If this is our home, if this picture is real, he should be here!" Her voice was rising higher and higher. Ron was dependable… reliable… He would know what to do to help her. "Where _is_ he?"

But even as she asked, she already knew the answer by the way Sirius' pained look silently implored her not to demand he spell it out.

"Sirius? Sirius, answer me! You know, don't you?" In spite of the calming potion, an overwhelming fear hit her, and she jumped up. Sirius lunged and grabbed her, holding her in a clumsy embrace as she thrashed around, pushing at his chest. "He's dead, isn't he? Sirius? Here—in this nightmare of a place—he's dead? Answer me! What the hell is going on? _Where the hell am I?_"

She was shaking in his arms, sobbing, and he sat her back down and held her as he _Accio_ed the Calming Draught and firmly insisted, "You must drink every drop." He gave her a gentle smile. "And then I'll start telling you what I can."

She managed to down it all and slumped back against him, growing limper and limper until she lay quiet in his arms. Hermione heard him whispering sweet nothings to soothe her and slowly she laid her head on his shoulder.

Seemingly succumbed to the position, Hermione sniffled and stared over at the photo as Black offered some concrete information.

"You see," Sirius spoke quietly, "where _I_ come from, your Ron is alive, very much alive." Hermione could feel her body respond, tensing to this; she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he continued, "In my world, you're _almost_ engaged to that ginger idiot who'd kept that filthy rat traitor, Pettigrew, as his pet all those years…"

Hermione became still at this. "We are? Ronald and I are together? Almost engaged?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. He's trying to get you to be exclusively his, but—" Sirius stopped, and Hermione looked up and watched him as he mulled something over in his mind before answering, "Yes, you and Weasley." Sirius eyes narrowed, giving her a small, forced smile of affirmation. He cleared his throat. "But here… _Here_—you hate my bloody guts."

"No, I don't—"

"The Hermione who exists _here_… resents me… She's... You've... No, _she's_ blamed me for what happened to him, Ron's death, for not being there…"

"What… happened?" she heard herself ask. She didn't want to hear it in detail but knew that she must if she were to understand, to deal fully with this strange new world she found herself in until she could possibly figure out how to reverse what had been done… _If _... Her head hurt at the impossibility of _if_.

"How? How did Ron…?"

"He fell through the Veil. Here. On an Auror's mission, right before the wedding day..."

Hermione gasped and Sirius tightened his grip on her. They stayed that way: Hermione slowly trying to make sense of it all, to put things in their proper place, to categorise the facts that she knew from _her_ reality. _Not this! Whatever, wherever this is!_ she thought desperately.

Holding her in his arms, Sirius continued to silently comfort her, giving her a gentle squeeze now and then, seeming completely comfortable with letting her be in his arms, letting her sort through things as long as she needed.

An old clock chimed midnight, and yet they continued to sit there together in silence in front of the lit fireplace. Time ticked on.

_But your Ron is alive and well! _Hermione kept telling herself._ Your Ron is enjoying his Quidditch matches and pub mates, so much... so much that he's refused to even talk about a possible formal engagement announcement, not to say anything of a wedding date—it's always caused a row between us... Neither of us can admit that we're just not ready... just don't want— _She stopped herself. Her problems with Ron belonged _there—not here!_

Feeling a wave of deep insecurity wash over her, Hermione pressed her head against Sirius' chest as if she could press it all away and wipe away the horrible event she'd just heard, whether _real_ _to her_ or not. She could hear his heart beating loud. Loud and fast, and she became aware of how tense and firm his body was. His muskiness filled her senses.

Hermione slowly sat up, suddenly feeling oddly discomfited at being in such close proximity with him. Perhaps it was because of the loud beating of his heart, or perhaps Sirius' unique masculine scent being unexpectedly pleasant to her, or perhaps the undeniable affectionate way he cradled her to him as if he'd done it before, as if he were used to comforting her, holding her.

With that realization, she became self-conscious and forced herself to move away from him, dispelling the need to have physical contact with him.

Sirius appeared to tense up as she shifted her body weight away from him and saw her look of embarrassment, and in the second, she knew he knew why. He didn't move but watched her silently as she scooted away from him until her back touched the sofa's side.

Hermione's thoughts were in a whirl, and she turned away from him to concentrate as she struggled to try to make sense of this place that she had found herself in. Her eyes roved across the well-ordered room, filled with knickknacks and mementos from a life that she had not lived. A place at once familiar and, at the same time, completely alien.

"No, not a place," she murmured to herself. "Not a world… not worlds—universes."

"Universes?" asked Sirius.

_Oh, sweet Merlin! That's it!_ "I think we need to talk about it—_this_," she waved an arm around the room for emphasis, "in terms of universes."

"Us?" Sirius' smirked. "In terms of universes, Granger?" He flashed her an amused but charming smile that caused her to give him a weak one in response as she repeated, "Yes, universes."

"I have a different way of expressing what's happening to 'us', but let's hear your take on it. Ladies first."

"You see," Hermione sat on the edge of the sofa, the Calming Draught now allowing her full reign of her thoughts once again, slowly grasping at and putting the pieces together, hoping they would fit, "there are theories... these Muggle theories about the universe we exist in. In your universe, Ron is alive and in mine he is alive, but we're not yet engaged in mine either—we're, well, sort of—but here—"

"And Remus?" Sirius asked suddenly, interrupting her.

"Lupin?

"In my wor—universe, Remus is alive—and Nymphadora, but here," Sirius swallowed hard, "they're… they're not."

Hemione's sad brown eyes told him everything he needed to know. "So, also in yours—they're—"

Hermione nodded in affirmation. "The final battle, the battle of Hogwarts, against Voldemort..."

Sirius huffed; she could see that the thought of those he loved and knew to be alive in _his_ reality non-existent, dead in hers, had hit him hard.

"So…," she began again. "So, you are definitely not from this reality… this reality's past or from mine…?"

Sirius shook his head. "Nah… like I told you, I'm not from here." He gave her a concerned look. "And obviously I'm not from yours, am I?"

Hermione turned away from him, gazing into the fireplace, and shook her head _no_, feeling ill at the thought of having to tell him what she had seen happen in the Death Chamber.

"Know how I knew it?" asked Sirius, his voice almost chipper, causing her to turn back to him.

Hermione shook her head, feeling the combined effects of the evening's Firewhisky, calming potion and exhaustion weighing down on her, anchoring her in place, and Sirius' warm gaze, like a beacon, steadying her.

"At the beginning—you didn't like me in my world—or protested and disapproved of my habits, too bloody cocky you kept telling anyone who would listen. Except for right before I _switched over_ to here; you began to…" Sirius seemed to become unsure of what he was saying or perhaps how much he wanted to say to her. "But here, you can look at me without… With those lovely eyes of yours, with need and warmth."

They both stared at each other; something unspoken passed between them.

He cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "As I started to say earlier, I arrived here pretty much as you did, searching for a perpetrator in the Department of Mysteries, and arrived here weeks ago, just before…" Sirius sighed deeply and then decided to get straight to the point. "In _this_ universe, it was your—Weasley went through the Veil just before your wedding day. He said it was to be his last Auror mission before he married from what I understood. I had just _arrived_ here myself. All I knew to do was to shut up and listen—not an easy task for me—but twelve years in Azkaban taught me one thing, patience. Watch and wait. Take it all in; try to make sense of what the hell was going on. We were called in; there was abnormal activity detected… Again, as in my universe and no doubt yours, an intruder had broken into the Department of Mysteries and had been traced to three rooms: the Time Chamber, the—"

"Space Chamber," piped in Hermione weakly.

"Yes, and the…," Sirius hesitated, "the Death Chamber. We were split up. I went to the Time Chamber and Weasley went to—We were going to meet up at the Space Chamber. Neither of us fancied the floating about, and we were going to draw straws on it—I waited and waited. He didn't show and I went to look for him. He wasn't there. I called for back-up. Eventually, our tracers detected an entrance; someone entered the Death Chamber, but… no exit." Sirius paused and held her tighter. "Recent activity was detected from the Veil… Someone had gone through… _him_…"

Sirius paused, as if he expected Hermione to rebuke or utterly reject him. But she only watched him, waiting for him to continue.

He swallowed hard and recounted further. "You see, I had just arrived here myself the very day before—before _it_ happened… During briefing, I was able to hide my disorientation under the guise of pulling an all-nighter of too much liquor and carousing about—no one questioned my behavior. Weasley offered to lead the patrol… His murderer is still on the loose."

"Murderer?" whispered Hermione.

Sirius was clearly riled up. "Of course he was murdered—Weasley wasn't the suicide type. He had everything to live for. He had _you_."

Hermione felt her face burning as she sat up a bit, and Sirius gave her an appreciative look, his face flushed as well. His eyes shined and his jaw muscles clenched hard. Then he looked away into the flames of the fireplace and in a strained voice pointed out, "That's the thing—this intruder must have already been in the Death Chamber. Merlin only knows for how long beforehand and why…" Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. "Afterwards, I didn't attend the memorial service. I was angry, drunk, sulking about, and went back to the Space Chamber determined to finish what we'd started. Determined to find some further concrete traces of the bastard who did Weasley in. I know in my heart it's connected with our predicament. Deep dark magic and madness running amok in the Ministry." Hermione could feel heat and energy emanating off of Sirius, as he ran his hand through his hair in agitation. "I entered the Space Chamber and then thought I saw something in the darkness—a constellation pattern I'd seen before—"

"Between Uranus and Pluto?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "It was the same constellation as when I'd come through… from my time, my universe. But _here_, nothing else happened. I had half-expected someone to hit me in the back with a hex again, to wake up somewhere new—but nothing happened. Nothing. I had to accept that the perpetrator was still on the loose. And I was stuck here. So, here I still remain. Only then weeks later, you've now shown up…"

Sirius turned again to Hermione. Something painful seemed to go through his mind before he said, "The Hermione from _here_ had returned to work after a bereavement leave; she was all hell-bent to find the perpetrator, the _phantom intruder _she called him. She received elite permission from the Minister to have unlimited access to the Time and the Space Rooms. And just today, I and my _new_ partner were assigned to her, for protection while she did her thing this afternoon." Sirius huffed. "She ordered me to the Death Chamber and my partner to the Time Room while she searched alone in the Space Chamber."

He gave her an odd look. "Needless to say, I found you hours later, unconscious on the floor in the Space Chamber. Your vital signs seemed to be all right, except for your unconscious state, which struck me as too coincidental, being like I was. I wanted to protect you, help you if I could—if you were like me, if the same thing that had happened to me, happened to you. I thought that perhaps you were from my universe, so I carried you to the Minister's office. But upon awaking, you were very much different... from either the Hermione from my place or from the previous one here. You were too… _different_."

Sirius' gaze at her changed to a warm, contemplative one. "You looked at me as if you couldn't believe I existed… And there was a sadness and shock there that I've never seen before. By anyone."

Hermione's heart started pounding; she became dully anxious to avoid telling him bluntly why she'd been so shocked. _You're dead in my universe!_ Her brow furrowed in thought as she deliberately changed the subject. "So you also can't remember—you don't know who it was who hexed you from your original universe?"

"Unlike you, I do!" Sirius sat up straight on the edge of the sofa, excited. "I didn't see him actually do it, but I know I was ambushed there by my fucking bastard partner, Marcus Flint, but of course can't prove it—the problem is that _here_, he's lauded as an outstanding Auror by everyone, as some bloody war hero or such."

A sharp pain went through Hermione's head, and she winced.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she stretched back, feeling a heavy grogginess come upon her, the dull throbbing in her temples growing stronger, "just it would be difficult to prove your partner in your universe did it, and why would he?"

Sirius became taciturn. After a few seconds, he replied, "I don't know."

"Could it possibly have been anyone else?"

"It could be anybody. I'm not well liked, there or here—apart from among my personal friends that is…. I've been called foolhardy and impulsive all my life—not characteristics that inspire loyalty among my colleagues. In addition, I happen to have been promoted to Head Auror here, above others who were no doubt hoping for the role for themselves. There would be many who would be eager to have me, um, _disappear_…"

The throbbing in her head increased in a flash as Hermione unwillingly remembered Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant screeching of 'I killed Sirius Black' and her mad gloating laughter in the Death Chamber on that horrible day Sirius went through the Veil. She stared at Sirius in consternation, and he met her gaze, curious.

They both fell silent, looking at one another, and then an unforeseen warmth enveloped Hermione as she suddenly felt grateful that somehow _one_ Sirius Black was here in front of her, alive and well. She gave him a bittersweet smile; he wasn't supposed to be real, but he was.

In that second, she felt an overwhelming need to help him, help him get back to his universe as well as she to hers. She knew she would help him however she could, that they would help each other—for it appeared that that was all they had—each other.

Sirius apparently saw some change in her demeanour and asked, "Are you alright? Perhaps we should go to bed."

She started at this and he quickly corrected, "That you should get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

He gave her a cheeky grin. "But first, please finish your sandwich—you don't want to hurt Kreacher's feelings, I'm sure."

She gave him a small smile as she sat up. He looked relieved when she also started snacking on a few pastries and grapes and joined her.

There was a peaceful silence between them as they sipped and supped in front of the fireplace.

As she nibbled on a cinnamon tart, letting her mind just focus on the here and now, she tried not to notice his bared chest showing through his half-unbuttoned shirt, displaying the indistinct tattooed design on his taut sculpted chest. She looked away, back to the fireplace, confused by the rush of emotion running through her.

Her troubled eyes gave Sirius another fleeting glance. He held more answers.

Quietly, she asked, "But how did _you_ end up here exactly? Before you were hexed, what were you doing in the Space Room?"

"In my world… so many things are similar to _here_, as they surely are in your _universe_. Me and my partner had been called in, given secret clearance and permission to search the Department of Mysteries to search for a thief and a murderer. A nasty piece of work—violent and Dark. By a real bastard." Sirius bit his cheeks in surly reflection. "My partner for the patrol that day, a Snivellus-looking recruit—"

"Like Snape?"

Black looked like he would spit. "Yeah. Just like here, like today when you arrived, it was Marcus Flint. Another Snivellus, if there ever was one."

Hermione's jaw muscles tensed as she gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut. The word grated on her nerves, but she could not remember why.

"What is it, Granger? What's upset you—the mention of Snape? Or Flint? You're remembering something?"

"I—I don't know," she whispered tersely, her head throbbing. "No… I can't remember."

Several seconds passed by and then the pain stopped as quickly as it had begun.

Hermione opened her eyes and found Sirius' grey ones peering deep into hers, haunted and glinting with suppressed secrets. He was so close to her.

"I-I'm fine. It's passed. It hurt like hell for a bit, but it has stopped now." Her voice was soft and whispered.

As they held each other's gaze in tense silence, she couldn't ignore his dilated pupils or the darkening look as he took in her flushed countenance. She felt herself grow warm being in such close proximity to him. And such close scrutiny. Such intimate scrutiny.

Again, she could not help but notice his lithe form, his lean muscular chest exposed up close now from the tunic's opening. She was near enough to see the tattooed patterns in detail as well as his dark chest hair forming and trailing downward in what could only be a very distinct treasure trail. Hermione instinctively gave a fleeting glance downwards, immediately regretting it as she heard Sirius gently tease, "Like what you see, Granger?"

The air had changed, something sultry and electrical seemed to fill the space, and Hermione was only aware of her breathing becoming exigent and pronounced as her chest began to rise and fall in a heavy slower motion.

She stuck her chin out. "What did you say?"

Sirius swept his long hair out of his eyes and decisively spelled it out again. "I said, sweetheart, do you like what you see?"

Hermione blinked at Sirius, embarrassed. As he boldly moved over, sitting closer to her, she protested, "Don't—please, don't call me sweetheart."

This seemed to keep Sirius in check, and he searched his thoughts about something. "Even here in this place and time?" He swallowed hard and bit his inner cheeks. "You have no feelings for me in your universe?"

"Feelings?" Hermione blinked, her eyes wide at the truth her brain wanted to scream, but her heart urged her to keep quiet, keep it secret; it would be too brutal, perhaps too devastating for Sirius, and she needed his cooperation, his full objective cooperation. _Surely being told you're dead, even in another time and place, would be withering to his ego—Who knows how he would react? _But another part of Hermione felt he should be told the truth from her reality. _You're dead where I come from! _

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head, unable to tell him the absolute truth. "No, no feelings. Well, not those sorts of feelings… I mean, I admired you greatly," Sirius raised an eyebrow at this, "You were kind to me, funny, brave, and I've always felt terrible that you were seriously wronged for most of your life." _And I was only fifteen when you died! _"But no, erm, never any romantic feelings…"

"_Romantic_ feelings?" Sirius' features softened. "Yes, I gathered as much."

He reached out and brushed her hair back again, letting his fingertips linger longer than needed, outlining the softness of her cheek, her delicate chin, before lowering his hand.

Sirius held her gaze and softly shared, "This is very difficult for me on many levels, you see, Auror Granger. In my time—universe—" His voice became husky. "I'm quite attracted to you. Ever since we began working together in the Auror department—and right before I _left_ there, you'd given me reason to believe it was mutual."

He lowered his head as if he was going to kiss her and Hermione jolted back.

"Dead!" she blurted out.

Sirius froze. Then slowly he straightened up and cocked his head slightly. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that… _WHAT?_"

Hermione shook her head. Like a slow motion Muggle film, she again recalled memories of her fifth year at Hogwarts leading up to that horrid day in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death Chamber, when Sirius went through the Veil.

Huffing in disbelief, Sirius rose and stiffly walked over to the fireplace, leaning forward with his hands on the wide mantle, heavy in thought.

Sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, he stared into the flames and asked quietly, "So, Remus, Tonks… and me? The final battle—Voldemort got me?"

"No. No, it was… It was before that… in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix… Your cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, hit you with a curse, and you went—you fell through the Veil."

Frozen, Sirius made no movement, and Hermione couldn't bear him having his back to her and rose, crossing over to stand by the mantle near him. She gently placed a hand on his shoulders, causing him to flinch and turn around to her. The flames from the fireplace threw shadows on his somber features, but also cast a light across his eyes full of torment and passion.

His voice hoarse with emotion, Sirius rasped out softly, "So, of course I mean nothing to you—I don't exist. I died before we became… before you grew up into the incredible witch that you are. Before you transferred to the Auror department, before we... got to know each other as colleagues, as friends… as potential lovers. I'm dead. Already dead to you."

oOoOoOo


	3. Chapter 3 Tribulations

Chapter Three: Tribulations by nagandsev

Summary: The evening entails a discussion of parallel universes, 'thin places', biker chicks, and sleep. Hermione and Sirius resume their roles at the Ministry, only to find themselves in another taxing situation.

* * *

oOoOoOo

_We got to know each other as colleagues, as friends… as potential lovers?_ thought Hermione slowly, letting Sirius' perception of _them_, the Hermione he knew in _his _universe, sink in.

The seconds ticked by in silence.

Sirius stared at Hermione with a pained look in his eyes, conflicted, and then he started to say something else to her, but changed his mind. He turned back to the burning flames in the fireplace, and Hermione frantically searched her mind for any coherent answers to this unbelievable predicament. In the heat of the moment, she felt Sirius' distress and forgot her own.

"Multiverses!" blurted Hermione.

Sirius blinked. "Sorry. Multi-what?"

She waved an arm impatiently. "Multiverses. Many Muggle scientists believe that our universe – well, each one's universe – exist in parallel to each other... and that there are points at which they touch."

The look he gave her was uncomprehending. "They… touch," he repeated slowly.

"Yes!" Hermione's heart was beginning to thud in her chest again. "It's also quite a common metaphor in Celtic Christian theory. Some theologians call where they touch 'thin places' – although in this case it's more to do with the relationship between Christian ideas about heaven and earth—"

She broke off as Sirius shook his head, his face twisted reflexively in confused disbelief. "Sorry, sweetheart, still don't get it… Divination wasn't my thing."

Hermione huffed impatiently, drumming her fingers on the warm oak of the mantlepiece. "Nor mine. It's not Divination; it's—" She stopped. _How to get Sirius to understand?_

Her eyes roved again around the well-ordered room, filled with her knickknacks and mementos from a life that she had not lived. But apparently another Hermione _had_. A Hermione that Sirius knew well.

She huffed, excited, but tried to explain slowly to him, "Okay, forget Muggle spirituality. Multiverses. As I started to say before, many Muggle scientists believe that our universe… well, each one's universe—yours and mine…" Sirius was biting his cheeks, tense, and visibly seemed to be trying to keep his impulses in check, impatient. He began to pace, but Hermione pressed on, determined that he understand. "The point is, there's a theory that states that many universes exist parallel to each other."

Hermione bit her lower lip in concentration. _Yes! This could be it! But how did it happen to us?_ "These distinct universes within the multiverse theory are called _parallel universes._"

Sirius made a disparaging noise. "Parallel– what? Look, you've suffered a gods-awful shock, Granger. I don't bloody know what got me here, but I can tell you I've tried to do everything, to find out everything I could think of to get back home - from the Hall of Mysteries to fucking soothsayers in Knockturn Alley... I've talked to every shade of weirdo you can think of, run the risk of being suspended for psychological evaluation by Shacklebolt, and ultimately I've found myself back where I started! It all comes down to the same fucking thing in the end, sweetheart..." He stared at her as he spoke, and for a moment she saw a flash of near madness in his eyes.

She took an involuntary step backwards. "But—"

"—But _nothing_!" he spat. "We're trapped here. That's a _fact_. I know it, because I can feel it, _here_," he thumped his chest for emphasis. Again, she saw that wildness in him, barely constrained, and felt an odd lurching in her chest. There was almost a desperation to him now, like an animal trapped in a cage.

He must have seen the alarm that she was feeling reflected in her face, because suddenly he drew back and took a deep breath, calming himself with a visible effort before her.

"I'm sorry," he muttered quietly, his eyes darting to the fire again. "Don't usually lose it like that."

She took a step towards him, impulsively placing her hand on his arm. "Sirius, _listen_. A few believe that it's possible to contact these parallel universes, to jump from one to the other, but maybe it's a point to start at, for us—we can help each other work this out, to return to where we're supposed to be, you see?"

He was concentrating on her in a way that was making it difficult for Hermione to keep her train of thought. She became aware of how close he was to her, his chest rising and falling, his bare forearm hot beneath her fingers. His eyes flashed with suppressed emotion as he confessed, "After all this time... it's... just difficult for me to hear what you're saying, sweetheart. I think..." His Adam's apple bobbed as he paused, deliberating something. His stance was taut and tight, like a panther ready to pounce. She stood, still and tense before him, conscious of the flexing of her fingers on his pale skin, the scent of his skin in her nostrils. One heartbeat... _two_. His throat convulsed again and for a moment she thought he was leaning towards her—

Abruptly, his head jerked upwards and his arm fell away from her to his side. Then he flashed her that quick, cocky smile she remembered from her youth and cleared his throat. "_I think,_" he repeated, his voice lighter and stronger than before."I think we should go to bed—that you should get some sleep. We can continue talking in the morning."

Hermione gaped at him. "But...," she started to say as he brusquely turned away from her, making his way to the hallway, saying, "Don't know about you, but my head's about to explode if we talk anymore about Divination—but a good night's sleep and I'll be all ready and willing in the morning—I'll check the bedroom situation upstairs, alright, kiddo?" Before she could answer him, Sirius had already disappeared up to the first floor.

_What the hell—? _she thought, baffled by his sudden mood changes. _One minute he's as upset as I am about this bloody situation, the next he's bouncing about wanting us to get some sleep! _She shook her head, remembering how Molly and Arthur had once tried to correct his impetuosity, that Snape had scorned him for it. She remembered how he had stared at her when she mentioned the possibility of travelling between different universes. He had looked almost unhinged for a moment.

She suddenly wondered how safe she was with him, feeling unconsciously in her pocket for the reassuring weight of her wand. Finding it, she breathed easier.

She could hear him walking around upstairs... the muffled sound of a cupboard door being opened and shut again. He had offered her no violence, only help and support. She thought about the look on his face as he had insisted that she eat, his warm hand on hers as he passed her the wine. The feel of his skin beneath her fingertips by the fireplace.

_He's Harry's Godfather_, she thought to herself sternly. _He would never hurt you. You're probably still in shock, and you need to sleep if you're going to sort this situation out and get home. Now get a bloody grip and follow him upstairs._

"Sirius?" she called, as she reached the first floor landing. "It's vital that we have a common understanding before we interact with others further—before we go to the Ministry tomorrow. If I'm going to be able to face Shacklebolt convincingly and all the others under a disguise of being _her_—the Hermione that they all expect to recognize, then—"

Hermione froze. She had stopped in front of the opened doorway on the left, and what she saw, slightly unnerved her. _Ron's things?_

She stepped into the room. Looking around, she saw Gryffindor as well a whole realia of Quidditch paraphernalia decorating the walls. It was definitely Ron's bedroom; besides the Gryffindor bed covering, Hermione spotted Ron's personal things. She walked over to a card-album and slowly opened it, revealing Ron's old Chocolate Frog card collection from when they were children. Hermione's throat tightened up as she closed her eyes and reminded herself, _Your Ronald is well and alive!_

"Hermione?" Sirius had returned from down the hall. He was carrying blue fluffy towels folded in his arms.

She closed the card-album and turned to him. He seemed embarrassed as he offered, "I thought you might like a bath... or a shower, or something. Sorry, I wasn't sure whose room was which. I've actually never been in this room, as is." He swallowed hard. "I was only here in _this_Grimmauld Place one time before I… before Weasley… I immediately moved to one of the Ministry's Auror hide-outs." Sirius looked around assessing. "But it seems like Weasley pretty much had similar taste like my ginger partner did." Sirius turned and closed the door slightly. "Yup. Same taste." He let out a cheeky grin, seeing something humorous.

Hermione took a step, looking around his side and let out an 'Oh'. On the back of the door were multiple Muggle posters of half-clad women in suggestive positions on various Harley Davidsons.

Hermione's raised an eyebrow and frowned. "Really? My Ronald would never have these—" _Demeaning, objectification of women things—ever!_ She wanted to say, but didn't. "Ron is not into biker chicks."

Sirius grinned, amused, but nodded in agreement with her. "You're right. Absolutely. I'm sure your Weasley is right as rain, true blue. However, _this_ Weasley seems to have been very much like mine. You see, Harry and Weasley were, um, very curious about bikers." Hermione's eyebrow went higher.

"So I did the only thing I could do, and took them to a bikers club that I'm an honorary member of." Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry didn't care much for it, you know, being raised by Muggles, but Ronnie boy, uff, let's just say, it made quite an impression on him. Fun times."

Hermione frowned. "Sirius, I also grew up with Muggles, and for your information, they are not primarily half-naked motorcyclist straddling—" She became flustered and felt her cheeks reddening as she noted one model in a poster straddling a leather seat in bliss. "Well, they are not all like that!" she snapped.

Sirius gave her a curious look. "I know, Granger. I think the Weasley _here,_ like in my wor—universe, um, was really into Muggle things, like his Dad. Um, from what I understand, Harry, Ron and I lived together for a few years here, a sort of a crash pad for mates—"

"You mean a bachelors pad," she quipped, shuddering.

Sirius smirked, "Nah, nothing awful like that—just three wizards who hadn't found their life partners yet. But that quickly changed—Harry soon married Ginny, living back at The Burrow, and once Ron became engaged to you, I stayed around at various Auror nests. _The lone wolf._" His mouth twisted sardonically. "This place was to be yours," his eyes saddened, "Truth be told, I've always hated this bloody house; it was a horrible place to grow up in. Like in my world, having wonderful mates at school helped me endure it and forget things… temporarily, but…"

His voice faded off as he looked around at the room again. He abruptly changed the subject. "Shall I show you your room? I think I've found the main bedchamber. It looks like a lady's room, anyway. Here, down the hall."

Hermione followed Sirius slowly out of Ron's room, thinking, _So, Grimmauld Place was always something horrible for Sirius? _She felt dizzy a bit as an on-rush of questions washed over her. _Who is this Sirius exactly? How much more was his life similar to my Sirius'? Different_?

Her thoughts were cut off as she entered the room at the end of the hall, a large bed chamber with an en suite bathroom off to the left. Hermione felt a sharp tingle course through her. It was her room, rather, her ideal room—her style, her favourite colours—if she could choose her perfect bedroom, this was it! She slowly walked over to the four-poster bed, gasping softly.

Sirius placed the blue towels self-consciously down on the bed covers and cleared his throat. "Well, then. I'll leave you to it. Erm, it looks as if the bathroom is adequately supplied with anything and everything to meet all your needs. The Hermione _here_ seems to have kept it well-stocked."

Hermione suddenly felt exhausted. It was all too much. _The Hermione here! Where is she now? Is she in my universe? In Sirius'?_ The room started to move a bit. He was right. She needed sleep. And fast. If this was still where she would be when she awoke, she would continue questioning it all, but for now… "Sirius?"

His eyes gleamed with expectation as she said, "Thank you. For everything. And you're right."

"I am? About what?"

"We need to go to bed." He looked amused. "Sleep. We'll continue this in the morning then?"

He was looking at her with an odd look she couldn't make out as she continued. "We need to be in agreement about everything. I need you—" She stopped. "I need you, to face Shacklebolt convincingly."

Sirius gave her a sad smile. He seemed to sway forwards for a moment, but then he stopped, stood straighter, and his smile took on a more dashing and cocky flair. "We need each other, kid," he said. "Don't worry; everything is going to be all right."

As Sirius turned to leave, Hermione had a last moment of inspiration. She grabbed at his arm and caught it, causing him to turn once more to face her. "Sirius? We'll need to get further access to the Department of Mysteries. I think the first place to start is requesting access to the Ministry's Department of Mysteries' archives, their Restricted Section, Azkaban records of—"

His eyes danced in the pale light of the bedroom, and he covered her hand on his arm with his own. It was roughened with callouses and very warm. "Shhh, that's enough—it'll all be waiting for you in the morning. Sleep, Hermione, rest. I'm here, call me if you need me—I'll be in the room on the right side—the old study has a comfortable lounge couch. And don't worry, the Ministry is the one thing that has stayed consistent. Unperturbedly impervious. Always there, same as it ever was. Sleep, sweetheart."

Hermione rolled her tired eyes and almost protested again about the _sweetheart_ calling, but as she started to speak, Sirius lowered his head.

There was a second, just a second, when Hermione thought he was going to kiss her on the lips.

But he moved his head and kissed her on the cheek, saying in a low voice, "Call me if you need me. For anything." Then he left.

oOoOoOo

Hermione's hands shook slightly as she placed an ancient astrolabe checked out from the Time Chamber onto the Head Auror's desk. She clamped down on her emotions ruthlessly, telling herself to _focus, focus, focus!_, as she turned and addressed Shacklebolt directly. "I'll also need time to evaluate and match any corresponding Arithmantic coordinates of the Space Chamber with the deciphered Runes, theoretically formulated, regarding the distances between planets."

The Minister raised a brow and gave Sirius a look for affirmation on what he was hearing. But the Head Auror only shrugged and crossed his arms against his chest as he sat on the edge of his desk while Granger continued to list out what she needed to proceed further into the investigation.

"Anything else, Granger?" Kingsley asked.

"No, that's all for now, Minister. Although once I've narrowed it down, I'll officially request additional access to these Chambers." She pointed at a list of parchment on the desk. "We'll need access to the Time Chamber, Space Chamber, and if necessary, the Death Chamber, as well as any other chamber that may prove relevant for Head Auror Black and myself."

"Very well. Then I'll leave the two of you to get to it. You'll let me know what else you need, I'm sure, if something else should arise. And Granger—Hermione—be careful." Kingsley turned and headed towards the door to leave, but turned back right before he left to say, "By the way, I'm more than pleased that the two of you have, um, worked out your differences."

"Head Auror Black and I have come to a... an agreement of sorts, a professional understanding."

Kingsley gave Sirius a stern look. But as he watched Black, who appeared busy checking his immaculate fingernails, seemingly bored, his momentary concern dissipated, and he said, "Right then, Granger." He duplicated her parchment with a quick Geminiospell and said, "I'll also be assigning an Unspeakable to internally guard and appropriately aid you two, as needed. I don't want anyone to be alone at any time. Unspeakable Parkinson and Hit Wizard Flint, as external back up, will also be assisting you."

_Marcus Flint?_ registered Hermione slowly.

"Parkinson?" barked out Sirius. "That traitor's daughter? I thought she'd left the country!"

"Sirius, you're not one to be calling names; the past is the past!" Shacklebolt reminded him sternly. "Miss Parkinson has an untarnished reputation in her present position, as far as her work record goes, assigned to the Department of Mysteries. She's proven herself very loyal, Sirius, just like you. Whatever happened between you two after Voldemort's demise, well… that's water under the bridge now and _classified_."

She couldn't stop herself; Hermione shot a quick, questioning look at Sirius.

"It wasn't me—it was the _other_ Sirius," he hissed back, and Hermione could have kicked herself.

"_What _was the other Sirius?" Shacklebolt asked sharply.

"Well, you know," offered Sirius nonchalantly, "the other Sirius, the _spy_."

Kingsley sighed. "I know, I know, it was the job, the undercover work, Black. You were only doing what you had to do to get information from her."

Sirius nodded, clearly playing the part, and Hermione turned back to the astrolabe to prevent the Minister from seeing the flush in her cheeks.

Then the Minister pointed out, "And Flint has been invaluable."

"I know he has, _here_," grumbled Sirius under his breath so she could hear him. "A war hero… Just—there's something—" He cleared his throat and raised his voice for Shackebolt's benefit. "This isn't an appropriate assignment for him, Minister."

"Give me a reason, Sirius, one good reason for not assigning him to you," challenged Shacklebolt, urging him to speak his mind. Hermione could tell from Kingsley's body language, that he was used to Sirius objecting to his decisions. She fought a smile – just the same as in her world...

"I don't like him."

"Besides that?" Kingsley waited, expecting something more.

"I don't trust him."

"And why not? What has he done to you?"

Sirius made to answer and Hermione immediately realised the danger. She moved her foot to the side and carefully trod on his boot.

Sirius bit his cheeks, not answering. Silence ensued and Hermione waited with her heart thumping loudly. _Don't blow this Sirius! We need time! If you tell him the truth, everything will be shut down, and we'll be incarcerated, interrogated, never left alone for a minute—stuck here for good!_

"Nothing." He shrugged again. "He's just a slippery-looking berk if you ask me. Always will be." He flashed Kingsley a cheeky grin.

The Minister sighed. "Sirius, when will you boys ever learn to get along? If that's what this is about, then I'll make sure he's permanently assigned to you."

A knock was heard on the door, and Kingsley called out, "Enter!"

A tall muscularly built figure entered the room carrying a few ledgers and a book; Hermione recognised him immediately. She experienced once again the disconcerting sense that this person was not the man that she knew.

Hermione heard Sirius inhale in a hiss as she watched Flint cross over to Kingsley.

"Minister Shacklebolt," acknowledged Flint politely, then he turned to Sirius. "Black." Marcus hesitated momentarily before saying, "Auror Granger." He quirked his head in his peculiar way as he smiled ingratiatingly at her. "So glad to see you are up and about—the Minister told me there had been some, erm, accident?" Flint looked around to Kingsley for confirmation.

"Yeah, some accident, Flint. Where the hell were you?" snarled Sirius before Shacklebolt could respond.

Flint seemed sincerely taken aback as Kingsley intervened, saying, "That'll do, Sirius. I've asked Marcus to come here so that we may informally discuss what happened last night before any official statement goes on record."

"Official statement," politely mocked Sirius. "Official statement?" His voice was rising noticeably. "With all due respect, Minister. Flint went bloody awol on patrol last night—or, since we're all being so lovely and polite—how about, he _fucking _disappeared?"

"Sirius—" started Kingsley

"Sir, may I?" interjected Flint. "Minister, please?" Kingsley motioned for him to proceed.

"For the record, I did not go awol," Sirius let out a derisive sound, but Marcus continued, determined to speak his mind. "I was only following orders, which you, Auror Granger, had instructed me to do."

Hermione gazed at Marcus Flint, and for some reason, she felt more and more mesmerized by him with each word he spoke.

"You said you wished to search for the _phantom intruder _in the Space Chamber alone. Remember, Granger?"

Hermione started to shake her head in denial, but in a second, she nodded instead and a dull throb pulsated in her temples.

Keeping her attention focused on him, Flint continued to address her, "And you ordered Auror Black to the Death Chamber and me to the Time Room. But you called me back and sent me to attain a book from the Ministry's Restricted Section that you needed immediately—something you wanted to urgently cross-reference—"

"Book? What bloody book?" demanded Sirius fiercely.

"This book," answered Flint through gritted teeth, offering the tome to Hermione. She gasped as she read its title: _Constellations of the Magical Heavens._

"Remember?" asked Marcus softly as Hermione looked up into his eyes.

Hermione felt a sense of conflicting emotions—for the briefest moment she had a flashback, like a déjà vu, as if Marcus was standing over her, only aware of him repeating the word 'remember' over and over. But then the sensation was gone, and she could only answer, "Perhaps… Yes, I think so."

Satisfied, Marcus turned to Sirius and Kingsley smugly confirming, "You see?"

"And so you left her alone, just like that?" badgered Sirius.

"What was I supposed to do, Black? She ordered me to go!" argued Flint, losing his cool. "She had _you _to back her up, didn't she? I thought you'd have been enough protection without me for five minutes, but obviously I was wrong!"

"But you were gone more than five minutes, Flint—where the fuck were you? What took you so long?"

At this Flint's face flushed scarlet, and he gave Sirius a nasty sneer. "I—I went to find someone to get the book for me, since I didn't have direct access to the Restricted Section archives."

"And?" egged Sirius on.

"And I got, erm, distracted… for a few minutes."

"Ha!" guffawed Sirius, "Let me guess, you ran into our one and only resident Unspeakable Pansy Parkinson?"

Neither affirming nor denying, Flint continued, "I didn't realize I was gone so long—it just seemed like ten or fifteen minutes… But when I went back, um, the Space Chamber was empty. The Death Chamber was empty—I realized everyone was gone." Marcus shrugged. "I went to Minister Shacklebolt's office, but he told me to wait outside. Later, when he called me in, I was relieved to hear what had happened—that _something_ had happened, an accident, but that everyone was alright."

"Alright?" Sirius rose slowly and crossed to Marcus stealthily. "I found Granger, unconscious on the floor in the Space Chamber. _Unconscious!_ You slippery little shit—"

"That's enough, Sirius, enough," cut off Kingsley sternly. "Auror Granger is back to her old self today. And we can proceed onwards. Here's my official decision: Flint, you will _continue _to assist Investigative Auror Granger with her research and cross-referencing—have you a problem with that?"

"Absolutely not, sir," replied Flint eagerly, "You know I love research."

Hermione's head throbbed, and for some reason, his words didn't seem to ring true.

"Granger?" asked Shacklebolt, "Any problems with continuing your research and investigation with Flint as usual?"

_If that's what the other Hermione was doing, if she was okay with him, I should continue working in the same manner, with the same people._

"No, sir. Not at all."

"Head Auror Black?"

Sirius gave a fierce look at Hermione and then Marcus.

"What does that mean, research together—remind me again how exactly is Flint assisting her?"

"Contributing to solving the investigation, Black," smirked Marcus. "Cross-referencing with her, lots of literal interaction, as well as bringing her the best cup of tea or coffee that the lady would like." He smirked again and Hermione could almost feel the tension radiating between the two men.

Sirius didn't answer. Instead he looked directly at Hermione; she pleaded with him with her eyes to go along with it.

"Very well, Minister," he bit out eventually.

"Good, Head Auror Black." Shacklebolt turned to Hermione and Marcus. "The office next to here will be used solely for this investigation—this way you two have some privacy to work in, without the interference and distractions of your old open offices. And if you need Head Auror Black's assistance, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to oblige."

As Kingsley motioned for them to follow him out, he said, "Hermione, let's have that list of other classified files, parchments and books you asked for, and then you and Marcus can get right to it." The Minister and Flint exited, their voices reverberating and then muffled as they apparently went into the newly assigned office next door.

As Hermione gathered parchments, book and the astrolabe, and started to hurry after them, Sirius grabbed her arm and whispered, "Don't you dare drink anything that wanker gives you!"

"Granger, you coming? The Minister's waiting to talk to us in private." Flint had appeared at the doorway and was staring at the couple amused. "_Our _office is… inspirational. You'll find it very conducive to working together."

Hermione gave Sirius a small smile, appeasing him with, "Don't worry. I won't."

As Sirius let her go, he glared at Flint and informed him, "I'll be checking in on you—often. So don't get too comfortable there, Flint."

Flint smiled cordially at Hermione as she passed.

Turning his back to Sirius without replying, neither she nor Sirius saw Flint's sinister grimace as he followed Hermione, watching her every step.

oOoOoOo


End file.
